


The Calm (Before the Storm)

by bellarkebc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because blarke is better than flarke, Bellamy gets captured with Clarke instead of Finn, Bellarke, Don't @ Me, F/M, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 07:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15019556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellarkebc/pseuds/bellarkebc
Summary: “Clarke!” she hears, before two gunshots go off.Dazed, she turns her head slightly to see a massive grounder, covered in war paint and camouflaged clothes, strike Bellamy on the head with a club—making him fall.If her body wasn’t overcome by pain, she thinks that she probably would have screamed.OrBellarke season 1 AU where instead of Clarke and Finn getting taken by grounders it's Clarke and Bellamy.





	The Calm (Before the Storm)

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in aggeessss so sorry if I'm rusty ('if' lmao I definitely am)  
> But this was a prompt from [my tumblr](https://bellarkebc.tumblr.com/) so enjoy...

~ ~

Clarke stands in silence, eyes tracking over the green expanse of the forest. The trees all blur into one as her mind starts to wander to her mother, now dead—blown up with the exodus ship. But she has no time to grieve. Not with the grounders most likely planning retaliation for the bridge.

But it doesn't make the ache in her chest hurt any less.

“Anything?” Bellamy asks, suddenly appearing from behind her.

Clarke blinks a couple times, refocusing her eyes, before, “It’s been two days. Maybe the bomb at the bridge scared them off for good.”

As he stops beside her, he gives her a sidelong glance, his curls falling into his eyes.

“You believe that?”

 “No,” Clarke says quietly, shaking her head, “They’re coming.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

Clarke had been expecting retaliation from the grounders to send the camp into an uproar. She’d been ready to talk a group of teenagers down from hysteria; prepare them for a fight and keep them alive. She hadn’t been expecting all of their food to go up in literal flames.

“Each group takes someone with a gun. But they’re for killing grounders not food. We don’t have the ammo,” Bellamy says, pacing through the dropship. Clarke stands slightly behind him, observing silently as he weaves, completely in his element, through teenagers wielding rifles that look foreign in their hands.

“Use the spears for hunting. Get what you can, and be back by nightfall. No one stays out after dark,” Bellamy says, stressing the last part by slightly raising his voice.

As he finishes, groups start to leave the dropship, lugging crudely-made spears and bags behind them. Clarke ignores the intrusive thought that some of the groups might not make it back, and makes her way to the rack of spears.  

“Clarke.” She hears as she pulls one from the rack. Bellamy steps up behind her, hefting his precious rifle.  

“What?” She asks tiredly, turning around.

 Bellamy eyes the spear in her hand, looks her up and down with an unreadable expression, before stating, “You’re with me.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at the finality of it.

“Why?”

“What, would you rather go with spacewalker and have to put up with his moony-eyed ass?”

She stays quiet and ducks her head slightly. She can just imagine the smirk on Bellamy’s stupid smug face, but when she raises her head again, he looks serious.

 

They hold each others eyes for a second, before Bellamy clears his throat.

 

“Look, you’re our only doctor alright? I’d feel better if you just stayed here-” Clarke starts to protest but Bellamy powers on, “-but I know you well enough now to know there’s no way in hell you’d stay here. So you’re coming with me so I can make sure our only doctor comes back alive.”

Clarke clenches her jaw, seeing his logic, but not liking that it’s coming from him.

“With the grounders out there you need to be with someone who can actually aim a gun okay?” He adds when he sees her hesitation.  

Clarke nods. 

“Okay. Good. Get your stuff and lets go,” Bellamy says awkwardly, sidestepping past some of the 100 to exit the dropship.

“Hang on,” Clarke calls after him, “How are you supposed to protect me if you can’t even kill a middle-aged chancellor?”

Bellamy turns back quickly, opening his mouth in a retort, before flipping her off with a huff after he sees her smirk.

“Just get your ass out of the dropship.” He calls over his shoulder, letting the flap of the tarp swing shut behind him.

With a small smile on her face, Clarke turns back to grab a knife off of the table beside her. As she slides it into her belt, her eyes catch Finn’s and the smile drops from her face. She darts after Bellamy once Finn makes a move towards her.

 

She would definitely rather be with Bellamy, the insufferable asshole, than doey-eyed Finn. But Bellamy didn’t need to know that.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

“Something seems off,” Bellamy says, crouching down, and tracing his fingers along the tracks they’d been following for the past twenty minutes.

“What do you mean?” Clarke asks, crouching down beside him.

“Look at the tracks,” Bellamy says gesturing to them, “They’re perfect.”

“…Too perfect,” Clarke concludes.

They both look up at the same time, and Clarke starts to feel a coldness trickle down her back.

“We’re the ones being hunted,” she says in horror.

 

Bellamy blinks a couple times, increasing his grip on his rifle. Clarke watches as he looks out at the quiet forest in trepidation. When nothing appears, he reaches out to grip Clarke’s wrist, pulling her up to her feet and back towards safety.

“Come on, let’s get back to the dropship,” he says tensely, putting a hand to the small of her back to urge her forwards before lifting up his gun with both hands. As Clarke stumbles slightly past a tree, she sees a shadow suddenly appear beside her and feels a sharp pain to the back of her head. As her vision goes white, her knees give out from under her and she falls onto her back—winded.

“Clarke!” she hears, before two gunshots go off.

Dazed, she turns her head slightly to see a massive grounder, covered in war paint and camouflaged clothes, strike Bellamy on the head with a club—making him fall.

If her body wasn’t overcome by pain, she thinks that she probably would have screamed.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

They’re taken into a small room and pushed to their knees. The dark makes it hard for Clarke to make out most of her surroundings but she tries anyway. Weeds push up through cracks in the floor and dead vines spiral up the walls. Mould is formed on the ceiling and water drips slowly from a leak above them. She can’t see any other grounders, any weapons, or anything of importance. But she can hear Bellamy breathing heavily beside her and that fact alone helps her to keep calm.

She tenses slightly as the grounder that had attacked them walks past them and out of the room. Subtly, she shifts closer to Bellamy. 

“We walked for about three miles, after crossing that creek another two or so before we got to the road,” Bellamy whispers to her after they’re left alone.

Clarke shakes her head and looks down, “I don’t think it matters Bellamy. They didn’t blindfold us which means they didn’t care what we saw.”

Meeting his scared eyes in the dark, Clarke swallows hard and says what has been plaguing her mind since they were attacked, “They’re probably going to kill us.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw.

The blow to the back of her head has made her movements sluggish, and the constant drilling ache that travels from her temples and down her spine makes her eyes start to sting, but she doesn’t let them water. She won’t cry for her life in front of the grounders.

They’re grabbed roughly from behind and shoved forwards into another room. As they’re pushed back down to their knees, Clarke can hear grounders approaching from behind her but she doesn’t turn her head. Clarke gasps in surprise when Anya shoves in between them and moves to stand silently in front of them. As Anya unsheathes a massive sword from behind her back, Clarke feels Bellamy shift towards her.

“Bellamy…” she whispers.  _This is it. This is how they die._

Taking one glance at Bellamy, Anya starts forwards and grasps the collar of Clarke’s shirt with her free hand, dangling the sword at her side with the other.

“Wait! Wait no!” Bellamy yells, trying to force his way in between her and Anya before a grounder shoves him backwards.

  

Just as Clarke prepares herself for the pain of Anya’s sword, she feels the bonds around her wrist being cut away. Looking down to see her sword slice through them, Clarke looks back up at Anya, a question forming on her lips. 

Before she can voice it, Anya steps away and yanks a curtain to the side, revealing a little girl lying on the table—gasping for air.

“Help her. If she dies,” Anya says, lifting her sword and pointing it towards Bellamy, “He dies.”

Clarke’s eyes dart to Bellamy’s in fear. But he doesn’t seem afraid for himself—only for her.

“What happened to the girl?” Clarke asks, pulling her eyes from Bellamy’s and back to Anya.

Inclining her head, Anya hisses, “She was on the bridge when your bomb exploded. You did this to her.”

 

Clarke’s body goes cold.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

Bellamy’s presence is comforting at her back as she tries to relieve the pressure from the little girl’s lungs. He doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t have to. As he hands her what she needs, stands in between her and the grounders watching, and offers small nods and touches whenever she feels unsure, Clarke feels calmer.

“This better work,” Clarke says under her breath, sliding the small tube into the cut she made in the girl’s side. As her blood starts to pour through it, the little girl begins to breathe and so does Clarke.

“Atta girl. Breathe,” she says quietly to the little girl. Bellamy places a hand on the small of her back, making Clarke look up into his eyes. But as he opens his mouth to speak, Anya enters the room in a rage.

“What have you done?!” She yells, eyes locked onto the blood pouring from her second’s side.

“No—you don’t understand,” Clarke begs as Anya marches forwards.

 

Bellamy suddenly steps in front of her, pulling Clarke behind him. But the grounder following Anya shoves Bellamy to the ground, making him hit his head on the concrete with a smack. As Clarke darts forwards to help him, the grounder sends her sprawling as well.

Hissing in pain, Clarke sits up and sees Anya leaning over the little girl.

“It’s helping her breathe,” Clarke explains.

Anya says nothing. Brushing herself off, Clarke stands slowly and makes her way to Bellamy. Placing one hand on his thigh, she crouches down beside him.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. I’m good” he coughs, starting to sit up. Clarke places a hand to the back of his head, feeling for any bumps amongst his curls.

“Yeah well that’s the second time you’ve taken a hit to the head today so don’t blame me if I don’t believe you,” she says lowly.

 

As she reaches a certain spot at the back of his head, he winces. Clarke stops and withdraws her hand, flinching when she sees the blood on her fingers.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, putting a hand over hers—covering up the sight of his blood, “I’ll be okay. Go check on the girl.”

Clarke nods silently, still looking at their touching hands, before she lightly touches her fingers to his cheek and stands, “Keep pressure on it so it’ll stop bleeding.”

Bellamy’s lips part slightly and he nods. He looks dazed but Clarke chalks it up to his likely concussion. She doesn’t allow herself to believe anything else. Not when they could die.

“Be careful,” Bellamy whispers as she moves towards Anya. Clarke finds herself nodding in response even though she has her back to him.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

“The bleeding’s stopped,” Clarke says, pulling the dirty rag away from Bellamy’s head. He nods silently before jerking his chin in the direction of the table across the room.

“How’s the girl?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke rubs at her forehead, where a headache has been steadily forming, and shrugs, “She’s okay I think. She’s breathing easier but I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

 

“Hey,” Bellamy says, grasping at her wrist to get her attention, “You’re doing everything you can.”

“But what if it’s not enough? What if-”

“It’s enough,” Bellamy's says with finality.

“But-” Clarke protests.

 “You’re doing enough Clarke.”

“I can’t let them kill you Bellamy,” she bursts loudly.

 

Bellamy draws back slightly, his lips parting and his eyes searching her face. Turning her head, Clarke looks at the grounders, who haven't seem to be disturbed by her outburst, and turns back to Bellamy.

 “You may be an ass…but the camp needs you,” she admits quietly.

He’s still for a moment, staring down at his hands, before his eyes dart up to lock with hers. Clarke sucks in a breath when she feels him run a hand down her arm in comfort.

“We’ll get out of this,” he promises earnestly, holding her eyes in a fierce gaze, “I promise.” 

She sees his eyes briefly drop to look at her lips, but before she has time to process what it means,  someone is grabbing her arm and yanking her backwards.  

As she falls and attempts to regain her balance as she is dragged backwards, she sees Bellamy be grabbed from either side by grounders. A whimper almost escapes her mouth as he is gagged and shoved to his knees.

She stumbles one last time as Anya stops dragging her, causing her to hit her hip against the table.

“She’s not breathing,” Anya says ferociously, her eyes deadly.

 

The colour leaves Clarke’s face.

 

“What?” she breathes, turning to the little girl in disbelief. Anya takes a step backwards as Clarke rests her head against the girl’s chest to listen for her heartbeat. It’s silent. Clarke slowly leans back up, shaking her head as her throat starts to close up. Her eyes dart to Bellamy before they land back on Anya.

“No,” she begs shaking her head furiously, “Please I did everything I could.”

Anya raises her chin.

“It wasn’t enough.”

 Anya turns on her heel and motions for the grounders to lift Bellamy to his feet.

“Take him out to the clearing and kill him,” Anya says cruelly, “Then deliver his body back to their camp to send them a message.”

She hears Bellamy’s muffled yells as he’s dragged from the room, but she can’t make out his form through the tears clouding her vision.

 

_It wasn’t supposed to end this way._

~ ~ ~ ~

She no longer moves sluggishly. She ignores the pain in her head, and allows the pain in her heart to fuel her rage. She lulls the grounder watching her into a false sense of security before she slits his throat. She clasps her hand over his mouth to keep him from crying out and watches as the life leaves his eyes. She swallows the remorse she starts to feel and allows rage to take over.  _Bellamy. Bellamy. Bellamy._  She will kill every grounder she comes across for what they did to him.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

Lincoln stops her from being captured again but she still sees red. He’s one of them. They killed Bellamy, and they’re going to take out her entire camp.

“Come with me,” Lincoln says, unaware that she’s contemplating trying to kill him.

Lincoln looks her up and down, takes in the blood on her skin and the savage look in her eye, and places his hand on the knife strapped to his side.  _So maybe he does know what she’s thinking._

“Why should I?” Clarke spits.

Lincoln shrugs, and turns away, not checking to see if she’s following. Her curiosity wins out.

 They’ve been walking for at least ten minutes when he suddenly stops behind some trees. Clarke can hear the crackle of a fire.

 “What-” Clarke starts.

Lincoln continues, stepping in between two trees and disappearing into the clearing. Clarke steels herself before following.

 

She sees the fire before she sees him.

 

Her eyes drag from the bright flames to the body standing beside it. One side of his face is covered in dried blood, his curls are matted and he stands awkwardly so he can favour his left side, but as the light from the flames dances across his beautifully freckled skin to shine in his eyes, Clarke feels a sob escape from her throat.  _She doesn’t even like him. This man is an arrogant asshole._  But for some reason she runs to him. And she throws her arms around his neck and clutches him tightly.  _They’ve only just started to come to an understanding. Only just started to work together._  But for some reason she brushes her lips against the exposed skin of his shoulder. And raises a hand to the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck.

And he hugs her back just as tightly. And puts his face in her hair. And she feels calm.

~ ~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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